


I'll Be There In Five Minutes.

by Bulletprccf



Series: Keep It Sharp, Gentlemen. [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Fade to Black, First Time, M/M, Vanilla, lovemaking, the explanation of the universe is inside again.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulletprccf/pseuds/Bulletprccf
Summary: A text from royal fingers implies he'll be staying home.





	I'll Be There In Five Minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> This section is to help anyone new to the mob era and/or new to the alternate universe. If you would like to bypass this, please skip down to the first page break.
> 
> Basic & Background Information:
> 
> The mafia in this universe is based on the 1920s to 1930s American mob, though the timeline is set in modernity. During the Prohibition era, the American mob was involved with the smuggling of liquor, and afterward expanded to illegal gambling rings, loan sharking, fencing, and drug trafficking.
> 
> There is a hierarchy within each family. Family members are known as made men, and are therefore untouchable in the criminal underworld – any act against them would be met with retaliation, perhaps inciting a war.  
> Boss. called the “don” or “godfather.” head of a family. receives a cut of all operations. usually a hereditary position, though can be chosen by vote in some cases.  
> Underboss. appointed by the boss. second-in-command. receives part of the boss’s cut on operations. logical successor should the boss fall to unfortunate circumstances.  
> Consigliere. adviser to the boss. seen as the family’s third-in-command. usually an older member of the family with wisdom and experience. used to settle disputes with other families.  
> Caporegime. in charge of a group of soldatos ( 10 - 20 ). all capos are appointed by the boss. in charge of heist operations.  
> Soldato. foot soldiers of the family. last rank to be considered made men. can use the family’s connections. usually the ones to do all the dirty work.  
> Associate. those who are connected to & work for the family, though are not family members themselves. are not made men. can sometimes wield the respect & power of a true mafioso, but this is seldom so.
> 
> During this time period, the North American Italian mobs had a set list of rules:  
> Omertà. “code of silence.” never talk to the authorities.  
> Ethnicity. only men of italian descent can be made into made men.  
> Family secrets. do not talk about family business to non-members.  
> Blood for blood. if a member is killed by another, retribution cannot be given unless with permission from the boss.  
> No fighting among members. from fist fights to knife fights.  
> Tribute. every month members must pay a cut to the boss.  
> Adultery. members cannot take another person’s wife.  
> No facial hair. must be clean shaven.  
> Homosexuality. homosexuality is punishable by death. bosses are not exempt.
> 
> Valentine’s Dossier
> 
> Origin: Sicily. associate of the Hojo family. refused to become a made man.  
> Death: shot. there is a rumor he fraternized with the boss’s wife. these claims are unfounded.  
> Post-Mortem: the boss had him “modified.” he is now a walking corpse, albeit with enhanced speed, strength, and senses. the Hojo family’s boss, underboss, consigliere, and capos have all died to belladonna poisoning. Valentine has fled the country and now works for the Lucis Caelum family, a mob with a hefty price on their heads ( a lot of someones don’t agree with their power ). it is unknown how or why Regis Lucis Caelum accepted him as an associate, though he is now a capo with the unusual circumstance that he has no soldatos. he is the sole protector of the family’s wayward underboss, Noctis Lucis Caelum.  
> > his left arm was blown off in an experiment. he has since had this arm compressed into a bluish diamond, which is set into a gold ring he wears on his right middle finger.  
> > his long black hair is often seen tied up in a ponytail that sweeps down to create a shadowy mixture with his black suits.  
> > he is of full italian descent. his true surname is valentino, but he has since changed it upon fleeing sicily.  
> > he is fluent in italian ( his native tongue ), spanish, and english.  
> > he lives in the lucis caelum manor, in a room adjoined to his charge’s.  
> > CURRENT BODY COUNT: 87.

* * *

**NEW TEXT**  
FROM: HIS HIGHNESS

  * Title: I’m coming over
  * Content: I’ll be there in five minutes.



  
         The text had been received four minutes ago, when Vincent had been in the shower.  Earlier in the day, he had texted his charge that he would be spending his evening off at his own home, an affordable but nice apartment a step away from the manor.  
         Clearly, _his highness_ did not approve of them being apart.  
         Sighing quietly, the guard unlocks his front door.   _Hopefully_ the replacement guard would be enough to keep up with Noct’s impulses **(** _unlike last time, there are two replacements for vincent now_ **)** , though it AMUSES him to imagine the two younger soldiers _literally_ chasing after his charge.  
         He has barely pulled on his old burgundy housecoat when the door is thrown open.  Whipping around, his eyes widen ever so slightly as he takes in…Noct? His…liege? is in a baggy black sweatshirt, ripped skinny jeans, and white sneakers, complete with a hunched-over, out-of-breath pose **(** _did he run here?_ **)** and – _no guards_?  
  
**“** _Noctis_ **,** where are Prompto and Gladiolus ** _?_** **”**  
  
         The GLARE he gives speaks more than the bodyguard cares to know.  With an irritated sigh, he pulls out his phone.

 

**COMPOSE**  
TO: ROOKIE; SOMEWHAT OF AN ASS

  * Title: Noctis
  * Content: You two fools need to stop fucking around.  Noctis is at my apartment, without you.



  
         Not two seconds later, there is a ring.  
  
**“** Prom **– ”**  
  
                   “I’m so sorry! We’ll come get him right away!”  
  
**“** No **,** leave him **.”**  
  
                   “But–”  
  
**“** This is your punishment **.**   Explain to Boss   
                               why his son is gone **.**  Noctis will stay _here_   
                               until tomorrow **.”**  
  
_CLICK_.  
         With an irritated sigh, he all but _throws_ the phone onto the kitchen counter before turning to give a glare of his own.  
  
**“** I don’t even _want_ to know where you got   
                               those clo **– ”**  
  
         Something warm and _nice_ **(** _though a little rough_ **)** cuts him off.  Determined arms have been thrown around him, and an impatient mouth is pressing against his own with a fiery need – but not for passion; no, this feels for companionship, for safety. **(** _what happened, noct?_ **)** While slowly being pushed backwards – he attempts to steer them toward the bed – his legs tangle with his aggressor’s, causing them to topple onto the rug beneath.  
         His highness is undeterred.  
         Firm hands slowly push him away, but all that results is his head being pressed into a shoulder where flesh is bound with metal.  
         Vincent says nothing.  When his ward wishes to talk, he will listen, of course, but it is unwise to push.  For now, though, he exhales quietly, as if he has been holding his breath. Arms loosely wrap around the young man atop him.  With some coaxing, he even manages to move them onto the blankets of his bed, though the other remains quiet, preferring to use his guard as some sort of pillow.  
         It is currently early afternoon.  He doesn’t really mind whether or not Noct stays there, pressed to his side.  His apartment may not be the most luxurious place compared to the heir’s chambers at the manor, but it is clean, quiet, and WELL-GUARDED **(** _by himself, of course_ **)**.  There are three rooms visible to the eye from this position, tucked against the gaunt’s shoulder: this one, the bathroom to the side, and the small living area by the front door **(** _covered in bookshelves and old overstuffed chairs, with an old-fashioned radio in the corner_ **)** , though there is a kitchen and dining area around the corner out of sight.  


* * *

 

**“** ** _…_** _Anne had relapsed into reverie,  with her_ __  
_chin in her hands and her eyes on the sky_ ** _,_** __  
_when Marilla returned      from her_ __  
_cellar pilgrimage_ ** _._** _There Marilla left her until_ __  
_the early dinner was on the table_ ** _._** **”**  
  
         Vincent’s ward has dozed off at some point, but there are signs of him stirring, as well as an unavoidable noise from his stomach. **(** _hnn…_ **)** The true secret is that the guard has been reading aloud, quietly, this entire time.  Whether or not the other _remembers_ the story until now is debatable, but it’s not as if a mafioso has any business knowing the plot of _Anne of Green Gables_.  
  
                   “ _…Don’t stop._ ”  
  
         The command is quiet, with the owner of the voice is slowly rejoining the conscious world.  Crystal blue eyes **(** _how, exactly, are they so clear when his burden is something he despises?_ **)** peer up at the guard, slowly blinking sleep from them.  
  
**“** I must ** _,_** for now ** _._** **”**  
  
         A page is dog-eared **(** _a terrible habit_ **)** , and the book is set on the bedside table.   _Somehow_ Vincent’s housecoat has been draped over the younger, leaving him clothed in just his ego.  This makes it easier to shove the heir onto a **(** _really comfortable_ **)** pillow, and he starts looking through drawers, pulling out various articles of clothing.  
  
                   “ _…What are you doing?_ ”  
  
**“** Getting dressed **.**  You could get up **,** unless  
                               you want me to eat by myself **.”**  
  
         Because his highness is so sleepy, it takes a moment for the comment to register.  
  
                   “…Wait, are you…taking me on a _date_?”  
  
         The only reply is a look that can only mean: _are you stupid?_  It is a look the guard only reserves when someone asks a completely DAFT question, one that said person already knows the answer to.  
         …Thank _God_ these jeans are clean.  
         Five minutes later, the guard – clothed in a black turtleneck, a red v-cut sweater, and casual black slacks **(** _he looks really good in red_ **)** – is leading him downstairs to a small lot behind the apartment complex. **(** _they’re going to drive?  won’t that let them be seen?_ **)** He stops at a sleek black _motorcycle_.  Popping the small trunk on the back, he hands a black helmet to his charge.  
  
                   “…But what about you?”  
  
**“…** I don’t need it **.”**  
  
         …Oh. Yes, a crash wouldn’t _really_ hurt him, in the long run.  
         It’s an experience, the ten-minute drive to a sushi bar, though the ward could definitely have done without the vibrations running through the vehicle. **(** _god, what if he notices?_ **)**  Besides that, however, it is strangely…pleasant.  The guard finds that he doesn’t entirely dislike the feeling of someone pressing closer to him, curling arms just a little tighter to “hang on” **(** _or something like that_ **)**.  
         The restaurant is small, but it is relatively busy.  They are seated against a tinted window, and thankfully the sun is setting on the _other_ side of the building.  The neighborhood around here is newer, attracting all sorts of somewhat-wealthy do-gooders, a fact that Vincent is extremely grateful for.  But –  
  
**“** You get one drink with alcohol **.**     That’s all   
                               I’m paying for **,**  and the last thing we need   
                               is _your_  name  popping  up in their credit   
                               cards **.”**  
  
         There is a __lot of grumbling.  That’s why Noctis had come over in the first place, to find a way to forget, just for a little while.  Although –  
  
**“** I’ve got a better painkiller at home **.”**

* * *

         After dinner **(** _of three different types of sushi and some weird soup that probably had vegetables in it but was pretty decent_ **)** , the two have run into the house.  The heavens do open up at the most _inconvenient_ times.  The charge has removed his boots and left them beside his guard’s at the front door.  Said guard has disappeared somewhere into his bedroom when – ah, there is a light: a soft glow from a bedside lamp perched on the same small table the book had been placed on earlier.

         Noct slowly starts peeling off his wet skin, hanging his sweatshirt on the edge of the sink in the kitchen, though he is rather distracted.  He drinks in what he can of Vincent’s home, illuminated only by the street lamp outside and the occasional flashes of lightning. The kitchen is small, with cupboards lining the walls, and it opens up to a small area that has a simple wooden table with two chairs.  It suits him.  
         After a few minutes, however, the damp clothes are no longer tolerable, and so everything is discarded in the kitchen.  There is one slight problem…  
  
                   “Do you have something I could wear?”  
  
**“** In here **.”**  
  
         A scowl is given before the heir has to walk **(** _nude_ **)** over to his guard’s room, only to pause in the doorway.  His protector is running a brush through his mildly soaked hair, undoing the tangles as best he can, and it’s clear how long the black mass is.  The ends are starting to cover up his –  
         Realization slams Noct in the face.  
  
**“…** What is it **,**  N o c t **_?_** **”**  
  
         Valentine’s head is turned, ever so slightly, over his shoulder.  His voice was quiet **(** _too quiet_ **)** when he spoke in this dimly-lit room, and his eyes…his eyes are the color of the wine he consumed earlier: dark and deep, russet and ruby all at once.  It is a look that speaks more about him than any words ever could.  
         As if pulled by an unseen force **(** _be still, heart._ **)** , Noct comes closer to him.  Maybe this is what he wanted; maybe _this_ is the painkiller.  No wonder he didn’t want either one of them to be drunk.  
         This time, the first time, cannot be a mistake.  


 

  
  
  
         It’s hard to breathe.  
         But why? Could it be that exhales are mingling so heavily that air just isn’t coming fast enough?  Or could it be that something inside, something deep within where nothing can **(** _could_ **)** ever touch, is tight?  Surely this languid moment, this slow _dance_ , could not be what is causing such ruckus inside.  It cannot be the two hands that intertwine like bodies do, squeezing gently with each movement **(** _movements so natural that it is wondered why this connection was not always so_ **)** , no.  It cannot be this unrestrained DELIGHT that flows between the two of them, surely not.  But then…what can it be?  
         The words, undone and finally escaping, come from Noct.  
  
                   “I–…I love you.”  
  
         Kisses are layered on the underside of his jaw, but a proper response is not given, the other thoroughly enjoying himself with his liege unraveling before him.  Only when teeth connect with a certain place in a hollow does his highness lose his patience and gasp out once again.  
  
                   “Ah, I– _I love you.  Vin–_ ”  
  
         The sentiment is cut off with lips.  A murmur is finally spoken.  
  
**“** Words are cheap **.”**  
  
         Reaction is to first be angry, but the harshness of the statement is not the guard’s true intention.  A squeeze in the right place has the younger falling quiet.  
  
**“** Show me what you mean with them **.”**  
  
         It’s…not _truly_ a command, though it’s phrased like one.  Perhaps it’s a sign that he, too, is throwing all to abandon, to share this moment with the person beside him. **(** _maybe one day, he’ll realize that all i do is show him every day.  damn it, noctis, i will go to hell for you, if you but desire it. it’s almost at the point…_ **)**   
         Almost at the point where, with the right glance, he won’t be able to say no.  
  


 

  
  
         The rain is still falling, though someone has turned out the light **(** _one hour ago?  two?_ **)**.  Hushed kisses are exchanged, exhausted and sloppy.  But still, hands reach for places, unbound by restraints, both physical and mental, to hope this memory never stops.

* * *

         Vincent is examining himself in the bathroom mirror in the morning.  More precisely, he’s examining his shoulder.  
         When the telltale rhythm of breathing changes:  
  
**“** You’ve got sharp teeth **,** for a rich brat **.”**  
  
         An _extremely_ discontent noise is given from the bed.  
  
                   “I don’t remember giving you permission to get up.”  
  
         Brow raises slowly, and the guard walks, quietly **(** _very quietly_ **)** , back and SITS without warning on the mound of blankets.  There is an irate _squawk_.  
  
                   “What the _hell_ , get _off_ me!”  
  
         Snickering, the older manages to slide back beneath the sheets and next to his tired pair.  After _some_ squirming, they are in a rather _intimate_ position, with bodies touching.  He looks… _nice_ , in the faint late morning light, with dark hair framing his face, even with that expression mapped on.  
         They stay that way, in quiet company, dozing through the morning.  How rare, that someplace is as peaceful as this, with no meetings, no guards, no heirs.  
  
                   “…You have leave through tomorrow morning, right?”  
  
**“** I did manage to strangle that from you **,** yes **.”**  
  
                   “Are you gonna kick me out?”  
  
**“…** I can’t kick you out of your own HOME **.”**  
  
         …What? But…this is…  
         Carmine eyes watch blue intently.  Yes, he knows _entirely_ what he has just said, and yes, he is _entirely_ aware of where this is.  
         …Perhaps he said that anticipating another round of intimacy.  
         Perhaps, perchance, he even said that to start it.


End file.
